


Hell on Earth

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: You loved him, he loved you. Then everything went to Hell.





	Hell on Earth

 

Love can come as a surprise, sneaking up on you when you least expect it. Once you have it, you don’t want to let it go; you want to keep it close, nurture it, let it grow, let it become something more, something no one else in the world can possibly understand.

Things weren’t always perfect, they never were, especially in a relationship between two hunters. But you loved him and he loved you, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

You’d see each other whenever it was possible, when your jobs brought you within a couple hundred miles of each other, when you were off you’d drive to him and vice versa. If by some miracle of God you managed to both be off at the same time, you’d meet somewhere in the middle. But the best days were the days when he could come to your little house and the two of you would live in domestic bliss for a couple of days, forgetting that you had responsibilities outside of your quiet little world.

You had that love, that perfect, special kind of love. Then it was taken away, leaving you in your own personal Hell on Earth.

The first month was the hardest. There wasn’t anything,  _ anything _ , that didn’t remind you of him. The diner down the street that had “the best pie he’d ever eaten,” that green towel in the linen closet he always used when he stayed with you, and the elm tree in the park, where he’d kissed you for the first time. It was the things like that had you hiding in your dark house. But you didn’t cry, not since the day he’d been buried.

The second month was hard, but not as bad as the first. You stopped expecting every phone call to be him, you stopped waiting for him to knock on your front door, you managed to leave the house in short bursts, praying no one would talk to you. You still weren’t crying. though. You were keeping those emotions in lockdown. It was the only way you’d survive.

Sam left at the beginning of the second month, apologetic, crying, broken. He couldn’t stay anymore, couldn’t wait anymore for his brother to come back. After he left, you’d sometimes drive out of town, past the old gas station and down the dirt road. You’d park at the side of the road and stare through the trees, unable to get any closer, not wanting to see the grave of the man you loved.

The third month went by in a blur. You forced yourself to start hunting again, it helped to keep busy. Bobby called you in on a couple of cases, none of them with Sam. He told you the younger Winchester was off on his own, probably trying to find a way to get his brother back. You didn’t go anywhere near the grave, forcing yourself to stay away. You wanted to cry yourself to sleep at night, but you’d held yourself in check for so long that eventually, you couldn’t cry.

The fourth month started like all the other months. With disbelief. Disbelief that it had been four months, four long months since he’d died, since the hellhound had torn him to shreds. You couldn’t think about it, it still hurt deep in your soul. You were scared of forgetting him more during that month than any other time because you were having a hard time remembering what his voice sounded like or the exact shade of green his eyes were.

You kept yourself busy, almost too busy, to the point of exhaustion. Bobby finally convinced you to take a break, well, forced you to take a break. You’d stopped at his house to look for your next case and that was when he’d taken your car keys and refused to give them back.

“Take your ass upstairs, Y/N,” he ordered. “Get some sleep. Something. You’re not going anywhere.”

You reluctantly agreed, dragging your duffel up the stairs behind you. You were bone weary, barely able to move. You stopped at the first guest bedroom, but that had been the room you’d shared with him on the few rare occasions that you’d both been at Bobby’s at the same time. You couldn’t sleep in there, too many memories. You went to the next room, an office with a hide-a-bed sofa, already pulled out and made up, like Bobby had known. You fell face first onto the couch and pulled the pillow under your head. You were asleep almost immediately.

As you slept, you heard the phone ring several times, even heard Bobby walk past the closed door, grumbling about “finding the asshole that thought he was so funny.” You thought you heard voices that weren’t Bobby’s, even thought you heard  _ his _ voice, even though you knew it was impossible.

You slept far longer than you’d intended, your body forcing you to rest. You were still half asleep when you heard the office door open and close. Too tired to turn around or even open your eyes, you muttered “still sleeping” over your shoulder, hoping Bobby would take the hint and go away. He probably just wanted to force you to eat cold pizza or canned chili anyway.

The creak of the springs and the overwhelming feeling of someone sitting next to you startled you awake. You jerked yourself into an upright position, your gun in your hand. You swung around to point it at whoever was there, only to be tackled to the mattress by a hard body. You opened your mouth to scream, but a heavy hand covered your mouth, cutting off your scream.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” a deep, gravelly voice whispered in your ear. “It’s me.”

You struggled, kicking and shoving at whoever the hell it was holding you in place. It wasn’t possible, he was dead, you’d watched Sam bury him, mourned him for the last four months, given up hope of ever seeing him again. This wasn’t real, it was a demon, a shapeshifter.

“I’m not a demon,” he said. “Or a shapeshifter, if that’s what you’re thinking. I swear. Do you think I would have gotten past Bobby if I was? It’s really me.”

But it wasn’t possible, he was dead, he was in Hell, his soul given in exchange for his brother’s life. You’d been there when Sam had put him in the crude wooden coffin and buried him. You’d sat on the ground on top of the overturned earth, your tears falling onto his grave until Sam had dragged you to your feet and taken you home. It had been the last time you’d cried.

You drew in a sharp breath, immediately shaking your head. “Not possible,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, his voice surprisingly soothing and calm. “But it’s really me.”

You were still shaking your head, unable to believe it was true, until Dean leaned over and kissed you, his lips soft and oh, so familiar. You inhaled deeply, the smell of sweat and dirt filling your nostrils, but underneath you could still smell  _ him _ , the essential essence that was all Dean. The tears you’d held in check for four long months finally let loose and then you were sobbing, desperately clinging to him, kissing him over and over..

He sat up and pulled you into his lap, rocking slightly as he comforted you, kissing your cheek, your temple, the line of your throat. He was murmuring, words you couldn’t quite understand, but that didn’t matter, because it was the easy cadence of his deep voice that you needed to hear, not the actual words.

You wrapped yourself around Dean, your face buried in his shirt until your sobs finally began to subside. “How” you asked once you were able to speak without a hitch in your voice. “How are you here?”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugged. “I woke up and dug my way out of that grave. All I know is that I’m whole and I’m alive. And here.” He nuzzled your neck with his nose, lightly kissing your jaw. “God, it’s good to see you.” He caught your lips in his, kissing you deeply. It was like nothing had changed, it was just like it had been before he’d gone to Hell. Better.

He rolled you to your back, settled over you, his arms tight around you, a low moan rumbling through his chest. His hands were everywhere, caressing, touching, holding you, easily remembering every little thing about you that he loved.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of you explored each other, relearning all that you had forgotten. Dean took his time getting you out of your clothes, his lips roaming every inch of skin. Your head was spinning, your heart racing, your body burning with every touch.

You were nearly insane with desire when Dean finally slid into you, moving at a slow, languid pace, taking his time. It was intense, new, different, but it was still you and Dean, still the best thing you’d ever experienced.

When it was over, you laid wrapped around each other, kissing like you’d never kissed before. You felt yourself drifting back to sleep, but you fought it, not wanting to miss one second with Dean. It was still surreal, you were still afraid you would wake up and he would be gone again, all of this just a dream.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, kissing you. “Go back to sleep. When you wake up, we’ll go find Sam. I won’t leave you again, Y/N. I promise.” He pulled you against his chest, spooning you, the warmth of his body seeping into you. “Never again.


End file.
